


The Children, Their Voices

by DarkSideOfTheSpoon



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: AU, Gleb my sweet baby son, I de-aged them, Mama Vaganov deserves everything, No romance here just sad children, The timeline is different here, Wow who put a murder cellar next to a family home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-06 20:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkSideOfTheSpoon/pseuds/DarkSideOfTheSpoon
Summary: Gleb was just a boy when the house next door was converted into a makeshift prison. His mother did her best to protect him from what he could only somewhat understand. His father played his role.AU timeline, set before the events of the show. The characters are a good deal younger than they would be at this point in the timeline. Gleb is about 12, Anastasia is about 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by many a conversation my friends and I had, about baby Gleb, his parents, etc. I hope I do a good job conveying this story!

_May,_ _1918_  
 _Yekaterinburg_

Gleb Vaganov lies on the thick, flat railing that wraps around his home's porch. His cheek presses against the wood grains as he nonchalantly lets his sights drift across his field of view. Sunlight filters through the trees, dancing as the branches sway. Subconsciously, his arm that dangles over the railing sways with the branches. His fingertips just graze the dirt.

He watches as soldiers, his father's soldiers, rush in, out, and around the house just metres from his porch, the house his father has called his office. They hum with silent muttering tension, exchanging stiff nods. A few bark orders at the others, anxiety laced between their brows.

Gleb sits up, swatting at the back of his neck when he hears a fly buzzing around his collar. He closes the earmarked book of fairy tales he was reading and sets it on the railing beside him. The soldiers have stopped moving. They stand rigid, assembled around the steps to the door. The sun sunk low into the horizon, sending the shadow from the high gate across the shorn grass. He observes the unmoving soldiers for a minute or so, impressed and fascinated by their composure. The silence, broken only by the clicking of the cicadas in the trees, bored him after a short while though and he reopened the battered book.

He was almost finished with the story of Ivan Tsarevich and his sisters when he looks up, the sound of automobiles from a distance rumbling, not far away. One of the soldiers, at the head of the formation, moves from his position to stand at the side of the tracks borne into the grass.

"My sunshine, Glebka, come inside. It is time to eat."

Gleb turns around quickly. His mother, his beautiful beautiful mother, stands in the frame of the front door, brushing flour off her apron. She smiles at him and holds her hand.

"Of course, Mama."

He looks back at the soldiers again, the sound of the automobiles growing louder. At the end of the street, sunlight glints off the hood of a car. He hops off of the railing and walks towards his mother. She smiles again, warmly. Her hand rubs his shoulder as she presses him into her hip. They walk inside, crossing over to the kitchen. Mama focuses on the stove.

"Wash your hands, my love." She doesn't look up, ladling stew into a bowl. Gleb turns on the faucet and absentmindedly rubs his hands under the cool water. He looks up out the window. The cars have pulled to the house across the street. The thundering engines cut off, and doors open. Soldiers step out, roughly reaching back into the vehicles to retrieve the cargo. Gleb raises his eyebrows, confused. A man and his wife, she taller than he, grip each other's arms as they step out. An older girl steps out, supporting a small boy. His hair flops into his face, pale skin contrasting sharply against the dull brown clothing they all wear. Two more girls, younger than the first, cling to each other. One of them lags behind, looking around in panic. A soldier prods the lagging girl and she yelps, catching up with the others. A fourth girl, the youngest one, steps out, clutching a small brown dog to her chest. She keeps her head down, her back rigid. Her freezing steps halt, as a soldier... His father. His father stands in her path. He reaches for the dog and the girl pulls back. He can hear her plead through the window, but he knew his father would not respond. He reaches for the girl again.

"Gleb!"

He jerks, looking back at his mother. She watches him with an expectant expression. Gleb turns off the faucet and dries his hands, taking a seat.

"Did you hear what I said?"

He looks down. "No Mama. I'm sorry."

She sets a bowl and a chunk of bread in front of him, moving her hand to run it across his head. "It is alright, Glebka. I just said that tomorrow, I think we will work on numbers for a little bit, I have something to show you. Does that sound alright? Hmm?" She grabs his chin lightly, squeezing it affectionately as she tilts his face up to her.

Gleb smiles and nods, nose wrinkling. "Can we read after?"

Mama laughs, dotting his nose with her pointer finger. "of course, love. Always." She moves to the window, drawing the curtains. Before they close, she meets her husband's eyes as he stands straight as a board in the yard, directing his subordinates. A glare cuts through the glass towards him, but he simply frowns and turns his back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Gleb is a Sleepy Boy.

Gleb spent most of the nights that first week desperately trying to fall asleep.

He lay in that bed for hours, trying to find a position that blocked out the noise. Late into the night, the door opened silently and Gleb stilled, closing his eyes. Mama leaned into the room, taking a moment to watch her son. She was not fooled, but she did not say anything. Instead, she smiled, her eyes filled with worry.

Across the street, the soldiers spent the nights celebrating. The lights on the bottom floor of the house next door burned through the night. Loud drunken revolutionary tales were sung, accented by laughter. On the top floor, no music played, nor did any light shine through the sole unboarded window.

Gleb sat up and crossed to his window, gripping the curtains to perhaps drown out the noise by pulling them in front of each other. But before he did, he lifted one back away from the glass. Rubbing his eyes, Gleb looked out onto the illuminated grass. Shadows from the soldiers stretch across the yard. A door slams and he flinches, ducking behind the curtain as a soldier stomps out of the house, tugging at his collar. He pops the top button and, as he heads for the gate, he pulls out a cigarette.

Gleb lifted his head slightly, watching the soldiers swiftly light the cigarette and take a long drag. He sighs, staring out towards the quiet street.

As the soldier leans against the gate, Gleb sits up a little more. He looks away from the soldier back towards the house. The noise had died down for the most part. The songs ended and the only light source that cast a dim whitewash on the world was the moon. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes, grateful for the respite from the summer sun. He snapped his head up after a minute, feeling himself falling asleep. Blinking wildly, he wipes the condensation from his breath off the window.

Past his hand, he sees a flash of movement. Gleb freezes, looking towards the house across the street. Another brief movement draws his eyes up to the top floor, to the window. He squints, letting his eyes adjust to the now dark surroundings. When they do, his mouth pops open slightly and he leans back. He looks down.

It was one of the girls. The smallest one-The one with the dog. She had been leaning out of the window, her arm dangling over the sill. He looks back up hesitantly, towards the window. She was looking right at him, across the stagnant air. The corners of her mouth twitch up in an uneasy smile and she inclines her head, almost as of she were prompting Gleb to smile back. He doesn't.

His eyes flick down to the grass for a second. The smoking soldier no longer leans against the gate. He looks around anxiously for the soldier, but he is nowhere in sight. Gleb glances back up towards the window. The girl still sits against the opening, watching him. She sighs and raises her hand, a look of desperation crossing her face. She gently waves her hand.

He pauses and raises his hand, slight waving back at her. He presses his mouth into a shy smile but Gleb catches himself and lowers his arm. The girl smiles again this time in relief. She leans against the empty frame and looks down, her bright expression dimming.

Gleb stiffens again and drops the curtain. It falls back over the window, cutting off the moonlight. He sniffs, standing up weakly and squints. Finding his way back to his bed in the darkness, Gleb collapses in exhaustion, falling asleep just before dawn.

Less than three hours later, he sits up quickly, his heart beating rapidly out of his chest.

A piercing gunshot rang out, sending Gleb into shivers. He unsteadily stands up and tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes, stumbling to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he immediately looks across the pale morning at the empty windowframe. A chunk of the frame is missing, shards hanging by fibers.

Still trembling, he lets go of the curtain and looks back at his room.

 

* * *

 

Later at breakfast, Gleb nearly falls asleep in his tea.

"My love, you look like death, did you get any sleep at all?"

Mama stands beside him, watching as Stepan Vaganov rushes into the kitchen. He pulls his budenovka onto his head and grabs a piece of toast, speaking roughly through a mouthful.

"Good Morning." He begins to head out the door.

"Is it?" Mama tilts her head, cocking an eyebrow. Her hand grips the back of Gleb's chair. Stepan stops, turning back. He draws his eyebrows low, angry, deciding whether or not to respond. Before he could open his mouth to comment, Gleb lifts his head and weakly smiles.

"Have a good mornin Papa." His words are slurred. He throws his elbow onto the table and rests his head against his palm. The smile falters as his eyes flutter closed and his head bobs. Gleb jerks up quickly, shaking and blinking.

Above him, Mama tightens her mouth, looking at Stepan pointedly. He sighs.

"You too, son." Stepan leaves quickly.

As he jogs down the steps, he looks up at the window. A soldier is perched upon a ladder, driving nails into a sheet of wood, covering the empty frame.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here have this long unedited word vomit I made at 4 am
> 
> In which Gleb is impulsive.

_June_

 

The rain faded to a stop only five minutes ago. The guards file out of the door, taking positions around the yard. Hands together, the family steps out after them.

"Are you finished?" Mama steps into the room, wrapping a scarf around her head.

Gleb snaps his head away from the window and picks his pen up. "No, Mama, almost!"

He holds up his notebook as if showing evidence and she crosses the room to check his progress. Flipping through the text, she sighs.

"The rest will have to wait. I want to get to the market before the lines get too long."

He nods, marking his position and putting away the books. Mama waits by the open door, sighing as she peers across the yard. Gleb joins her and she adjusts the shawl, ushering him out of the house quickly.

"Come, we must hurry."

Gleb hesitates before following, staring across at the family beyond the gate. They sit around a table, heads lowered. The mother's mouth moves and it strikes Gleb that they are praying. He watches on, curious until it the feeling that he's watching something forbidden hits him and he turns to follow Mama.

They march past the gate, and Gleb does his best to keep his eyes forward. He's itching to turn his head when they begin to sing, until a sharp voice, a guard orders them to stop. The singing dies and as Gleb follows Mama away from the houses, he thought he heard a whimper.

Gleb stays silent for most of the trip to the market, earning concerned looks from Mama. She watches him focusing hard on keeping track of a single rock as they walk down the road.

"Don't dirty your boots, Glebka."

He lifts his head, looking forward and lets the rock roll past him. "Yes, Mama."  
The look of concentration remains on his face.

Mama frowns, gripping her scarf as a gust of wind sends the leaves in the trees shaking. They're nearing the market and she slows her pace, seeing the already long lines for food.

"We are already late."

This earns no response from Gleb. His gaze tracks a small flock of pigeons as they fly overhead.

"Glebka."

"Huh?" His head drops from the sky, looking over at her quickly.

"Your head seems to be in the clouds, my dear. What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing mama!" Gleb leans into her and smiles. She huffs and wraps her arm around his shoulder, holding him close to her as they enter the market.

"What have I told you about lying?" She looks down at him, an eyebrow raised. Her expression softens when he looks up at her, feigning confusion.

"You are wondering about the family next door aren't you?"

Mama leads him to a line running out of a bread stall and plants her feet into the pavement, waiting for his answer.

"Is that really the Tsar and his family? The Romanovs?"

She sighs and bites the inside of her cheek, looking into his sweet little face. Mama could feel his eyes asking a million questions and as much as she wished he would ask them, she knew that the answers would hurt him. Gleb is just a boy. The day draws near when he'll leave home and begin his own life in this new world but.... he's still so young.

_Please... Let his heart stay pure._

She says a silent prayer before answering her son.

"Yes, my love. That is ..Nikolay Aleksandrovich and his family. You must remember, they are no longer Romanovs. They no longer bind Russia."

She places a hand on his back and keeps him beside her as they move forward in the line. When they stop again, Gleb looks back up at her.

"Are they all responsible for Russia's pain?"

Mama gives him a pained smile. "They all lived in comfort and ease while people suffered."

"Oh." Gleb seemed disappointed with her answer, his gaze falling back downward. She wants to ease his mind and assure him that the children she knew he watched when she wasn't looking were innocent and were safe.

But she didn't want to have to lie to her son.

The clouds dissipated rapidly in the wind that sent unsecured fabric rippling against the posts. They moved through the market as efficient as they could, Gleb insisting that he carry the bag. Every time she reached for it, he smiled up at her, squinting in the sunlight.

"Not a chance, mama!"

Each time, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing up.

He wandered ahead of her, excitement brightening his eyes. Mama hung back, watching him weave through the market goers. Occasionally, he'd pause his mad dash to sharply turn back and look for her. When eye contact was made, Gleb ducked his head and began moving quickly.

He waited for her at the edge of the market and they began walking in silence, but this time, the silence was warmer.

At least until they approached home. Mama placed a protective hand on his shoulder when she saw the family was still in the yard. Very much more than mildly irritated, she picked up her pace, trying to get her son inside. As she reached down to retrieve the bag, the scarf securing her hair slipped out of her collar, caught in a gust of wind.

As Gleb finally hands over the bag, he looks up, trying to catch the scarf as it just slips out of his fingers. The grey fabric hurtles toward the gate.

"GLEB!"

Mama drops the bag, trying to latch onto his shoulder again before he could chase the scarf but it's too late. Gleb sprints after it, reaching as it drifts over the high metal fence. The family beyond it looks up, hearing her panicked call.

"Stop! Do not move!"

The two guards posted outside the gates flinch, raising their rifles in an instant. Gleb freezes, unsure of where to look. He glances around himself wildly, at the barrels of the guns trained on him, through the gate at the family. They watch the scene, eyes wide. He quickly looks down from the family at the scarf, which lies in the grass at the base of the table they sit at.

"Back away from the gate! Keep your hands up!" One of the guards snaps at him when he shakily begins to drop his hands.

"The sc-carf.." Gleb tries not to look up at the rifle by his ear until it turns from him to something behind him.

"Get those filthy guns away from my son."

Mama speaks close by, acid dripping from her voice. He closes his eyes, wincing. After a long moment, the more decorated guard lowers his gun and growls.

"You."

Gleb shudders, keeping his hands above his head. He hesitantly gapes up at the guards. Looking past the twitching rifle, the guard aiming at him sweats. Beads of moisture form at the band of his collar.

"Bring the scarf."

Following the guard's gaze, Gleb looks toward the gate. The second guard points at the family, who sits still, frozen.

"BRING THE SCARF!" The order is spat out, seemingly hitting the family. They all collectively flinch.

The youngest daughter quickly leans down, pulling the fabric out of the grass. One of the older sisters reaches out to grab her arm but she slips out. From yards away, Gleb could softly hear the mother gasp.

"Nastyen'ka.."

The girl tentatively steps through the grass, hands shaking. Her head remains high though. As she nears the gate, her arm raises, offering the scarf. Gleb keeps his hands up, watching. He swallows, his throat having gone dry. The girl turns her eyes towards him, recognition brightening her face.

Gleb raises his eyebrows and raises the corners of his mouth slightly, trying to appear kind. She's in the process of smiling back when the scarf is pulled roughly out of her outreached hand. Her eyes go wide and she jerks back, staring open-mouthed at the guard.

"Go."

The rifle aimed at Gleb moves, the barrel aimed at the girl through the gate now. She ducks her head down and rushes back to her family, the rifle staying on her.

The guard with the scarf grabs Gleb's arm and pulls him back away from the gate.

"Go with your mother, boy." Balling up the scarf, he tosses it to Gleb.

Clutching it, he nearly sprints back to Mama. She steps behind him and presses him forward quickly. Fingers dig into his shoulders, not letting up until he stumbles up the stairs to his porch.


End file.
